“She
would,”
the girl said. “She totally
would.”
“I’d
like
to meet your mom too. She could come along with us. Can you
give
me your home phone number or
have
her call
me?”
Silence.
Then:
“I’ll
think
about
it.
Maybe.
I’ll
call
you.
Bye.”
Jasmine
clicked
off.
Damn!
I
had
her
and
then
I
lost
her!
Lacey
cursed herself for pushing Jasmine too hard.
I handled
this all
wrong.
Really,
Smithsonian?
she thought
ruefully.
What
was
your
first
clue?
“How’d
it go?” Mac
was
on his
way
back from the thirdfloor snack machine with a package of little chocolate doughnuts, a sure sign that
he’d
given
up hope that Felicity
would
be feeding the troops
today.
Lacey
had a bag of
takeout
Thai food in her hands that she planned to open at her desk,
but
Mac
waved
her into his
office.
She clutched the bag and the plastic chopsticks, determined to
have
some
sustenance this
day.
“So?” He
waited
for her report.
“It went swell, Mac. Cassandra
was
rude. She insulted me. I in turn insulted
her,
met and
was
insulted by her friends,
was
terrorized by a
cranky
nurse, and
finished
off
my mission of
mercy
with a
fight
with Sir Shabby Lancelot, who
arrived
to
save
the
day,
a little late and unarmed for a battle of wits. Peter Johnson, I
mean.”
She gestured with her chopsticks.
I
left
out
the
part
about
Cassandra
being
irresistible
Washington
man
bait,
with
three
drippy
guys
all
fighting
over
her.
“Oh, and then the crabby nurse
threw
us all
out.”
Mac wearily raised one
eyebrow,
swallowed
a bit of dough nut. “What the hell
was
Johnson doing there? He
was
supposed to be in the Dirksen Building at a Senate
hearing.”
“Hearings are boring. And hearings
have
recesses,”
Lacey
said. “Maybe he
packed
it in and just
picked
up the boring writ ten
testimony.”
“We
don’t
just pick up the boring written
testimony
to write our stories here at
The
Eye
,”
he scolded.
“We
do it the hard
way.
We
sit through the boring oral
testimony
just in case something not boring happens,
like
the idiot witness contradicting his
own
boring written
testimony.”
“Why
don’t
you
have
another
doughnut?”
She
thought
that
might calm him
down.
He rattled the package and took one out.
“Cassandra
couldn’t
remember
anything
useful,
Mac.
Not
a thing. And she named as a suspect
everybody
who’s
ever
read her
stuff
in the
newspaper.
Also
Felicity,
she really has it in for
her.”
Lacey
opened the white paper box that held her lunch and
inhaled
the
aroma
for
a
moment,
ignoring
the
storm
clouds
gathering in
Mac’s
expression.
“Look, Mac, Cassandra sum mons me and then she has absolutely nothing to tell me. I
can’t
write
one
whole
newsworthy
sentence
from
what
she
said.
Johnson is
convinced
he’s
the man for this story?
It’s
personal
for
him?
Then
why
not
just
give
it
to
him?”
“This
is
not
good.”
He
contemplated
another
doughnut.
“Not good at
all.”
Lacey
took a bite of her
tom
yum
gai
sub.
“By the
way,
I got a call from the little
shepherd.”
“Who? Oh, the kid at the scene? He called you?”
“I’m
very
popular
in
certain
circles.
Dante’s
circles
of
Hades, that is.
Turns
out
she’s
a girl. Not a
boy.
Her name is
Jasmine.”
“Ha!
How’d
our
fashion
genius miss the
fact
that
it’s
a girl?” He chomped on a doughnut. “This
isn’t
one of those transgen der things, is it?”
“No, all I can say is that it
was
a little
murky
in the
alley
and a somewhat stressful environment. Kid was wearing a
hood
pulled
down
low,
I
couldn’t
see
any
hair.
She
makes
a
very
con vincing little shepherd
boy.
Grubby,
dirty
face,
all that.
You
are what you
wear,
Mac.”
“You’re
slipping,
Smithsonian,”
he said.
“Boy
or girl? Pretty basic
stuff.”
Lacey
delicately lifted a
lovely
piece of
chicken
with her chopsticks.
“You’re
right, Mac. I’m losing
it.”
She had a hope ful gleam in her
eye.
“Slipping.
Can’t
tell
boys
from girls.
Have
to
leave
the
fashion
beat,
I’d
say.
Might
have
to
go
back
to
hard
news.
Tragic.
It’s
a shame,
isn’t
it?”
“In your dreams, Smithsonian. Nice try
though.”
He ate half the doughnut, then went after the other half.
“You
say the kid called you?”
“Jasmine. Jasmine Lee, she calls herself. On Cassandra’s phone. Apparently it went missing in all the confusion Friday
night. She
wanted
to
make
sure I
knew
she
was
a girl. And
she’s
not Hispanic
either.”
“She
want
a retraction?”
“She
didn’t
ask for one. I told her that as a witness she might be in
danger.
I’m
worried
about
her.”
“Why
in
particular?”
His
fingers
worshipfully
hefted
the
second to last doughnut.
“I think she might be homeless. Or close to
it.”
“Homeless?”
Now
Mac
was
paying attention.
“How
you
fig
ure that?”
“We
ran a police report about a
Nativity
scene at a church up in the
Shaw
neighborhood.
Nativity
figures,
statues, robbed of their clothes, a shepherd among them. Jasmine more or less ad mitted the
shepherd’s
robe came from
there.”
“She stole it?”
“She
borrowed
it, she said, and she told me
very
logically that statues
don’t
get
cold.”
“So she
knows
about being cold at
night.”
His
eyebrows
fur
rowed
and he stared at
Lacey.
“Homeless?”
“Maybe. Or maybe
she’s
not quite homeless,
but
she’s
run ning around
town,
taking clothes, wandering through alleys.
Doesn’t
sound
like
a good stable home.
She’s
not a
boy,
play ing around in
alleys
for kicks. See, I
can
tell
boys
from
girls.”
“How
old you think she is?”
“Totally
almost thirteen.
That’s
a
quote.”
“She’s
black?”
“And
white
and
Asian,
Chinese.
She
admitted
that
some
people might think
she’s
Hispanic,
but
she’s
not.
She’s
a
‘mutt,’
she told me. Small
but
tough. And smart,
evaded
most of my
questions.”
“See what you can
find
out about
her.”
Mac
was
a tough mutt too,
but
he
was
showing
Lacey
his softer side. “I’m inter ested in this
one.”
“This story?’
“This
kid.”
He put his hands together and
flexed
his
fingers.
“Almost
thirteen? A vulnerable age, an age that calls out to the vultures.
She’s
running round
town
alone?
She’s
a
target
for more than this nut job who
attacked
Cassandra. The pimps, the pushers,
they’ll
be calling, interested in the corruption of her soul.
We
can’t
let that
happen.”
“Sounds
like
a pretty big
task.”
Lacey
had
never
heard Mac
use a phrase
like
the
corruption
of
her
soul.
Mac
looked
away
and seemed to
make
up his mind about something.
“Reel her in,
Lacey,”
he said. “Soon as possible. A kid
like
that’s
very
vulnerable. She could slide right
off
the radar in this
town.
And the cops
aren’t
helping at all,
they’re
looking for the wrong kid. If
they’re
looking at all. Did you
find
out about her
family?”
“No, she ducks it
every
time I ask to speak to her
mother.
No mention of a
father.
No address. Nada. I’m betting she
lives
in or near
Shaw,
near the little
church.”
“Does sound
like
the
mother’s
not on top of things. Maybe
she’s
got problems, drugs or
whatever,
or maybe she
wouldn’t
approve.”
“What can I do, Mac,
except
wait
for the phone to ring? The battery on that phone will run out of juice
soon.”
“You
didn’t
tell the police about the cell phone?” “I must
have
forgot.
Busy night that
night.”
He nodded. “Probably not important to them
anyway,
what with this kid being their big ‘suspect’ and all. Somebody steals a cell phone in the District,
they
can sell it inside of
fifteen
min
utes,
so
why
would
the
cops
waste
their
time
looking
for
it?
It’s
gone for good. And
they’re
looking for an Hispanic teenager in a blue
jacket?
They’re
for sure
never
going to
find
this
kid.”